The Pearl Locket (21 page)

‘Please do, Great-gran. I’m longing to hear more about her. It’s funny, but I feel as though I’ve got some kind of connection with her.’ Ali threw her daughter a warning glance. No point in frightening the old lady with talk of ghosts. She’d already warned them all to say nothing of this. Gran was too old and frail to be worried by such things.

‘All right. Well. That soldier, his name was Jack. I told you about him last time, didn’t I? He was Joanie’s sweetheart. She loved him, so much. It nearly broke her heart when he signed up and went away to the war. He could have trained as an engineer, stayed out of it and got himself a civilian job, but she knew he felt he had to do something for his country. Is it time for tea? I don’t suppose Kelly’s made another lovely lemon drizzle cake, has she? I did enjoy the last one.’

‘Sorry, no cakes this time. I’ll make you one next time I come, I promise, Great-gran,’ said Kelly.

Gran continued her story. ‘Anyway, Jack came home on leave, after his training and before being posted to France. Joanie was so happy to have him back. I covered for her, lied through my teeth to Father, I did. But it was worth it to see her happy. But, oh dear me, it was to be the last time she saw him.’ She broke off, and shook her head sadly.

‘What happened to him?’ Ali asked, gently. Kelly was sitting absolutely still, barely breathing.

‘He was involved in the Normandy landings,’ Gran went on. ‘Not actually on D-Day, but a few days later. His aunt came round with the telegram. Oh, poor Joanie…’ Again, she shook her head.

‘She must have been devastated,’ Pete commented.

‘Yes, and even more so because of…’

‘Because of?’ It would be the pregnancy. Ali was sure of it.

Another sigh. Gran was clearly having difficulty breaking her silence after all these years. ‘They’d got engaged, you see. While he was home on leave, he’d asked her to marry him once the war was over.’

‘So sad. Did your father know?’ Joan had been seventeen. The same age Kelly was now. Ali tried to imagine how she’d react if Kelly and Matt got engaged. However much she liked Matt, she was sure she would feel they were far too young for such a step.

‘Not straight away,’ Gran replied. ‘Joanie had kept it secret to start with. She only told them to try to make them understand…about the other thing…’

‘Great-gran, please go on. What was the other thing?’ Kelly’s eyes were wet with unshed tears.

‘Well, the thing was, as they had planned to marry, they’d, well, jumped the gun a bit. When he was home on leave. And of course, these things happen, and Joanie found herself…pregnant. There, I’ve said it. Father was furious. You can imagine. Poor Joanie. A baby on the way, and Jack dead in France. It was a terrible, terrible time.’

Ali caught Kelly’s eye. So Jack was the father of Joan’s baby then, as they had guessed. And therefore he was Jason’s grandfather. But they couldn’t mention Jason to her yet. It would be too much of a shock. ‘Gran, oh, I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to distress you asking about all this.’ She jumped up and hugged the old lady, who had tears streaming down her cheeks. ‘Pete, pass me a tissue. There, Gran. Poor Joan. How awful, and she was so young.’

‘Yes, so very, very young. Don’t ask me to remember any more, Alison. Not today, love. I’m so tired. I think I need to rest now.’ She leaned back in her chair, looking even more old and worn than when they arrived. Ali glanced at Kelly. She too was looking worn, but there was a light gleaming in her eye. It was helping her, finding out the truth, hearing their guesses confirmed by Gran. They would have to come to see her again soon, Ali realised. There was more to the story, she was sure, but Gran wasn’t able to talk about it today.

‘We’ll leave you in peace then,’ she said, kissing Gran goodbye. The old lady’s eyes were almost closed. Ali pulled a knitted rug from the bed and tucked it around her. ‘Enjoy your nap. We’ll be back with lemon drizzle cake soon. Come on, troops.’

‘Did it help, talking to your great-gran?’ Matt asked.

Kelly nodded. ‘Yes, definitely. I’d kind of guessed something tragic like that must have happened to Jack. And at least we’ve confirmed that Jack was the father of her baby. Jason’s mum. I mean, we’d guessed but it was good to hear it for certain.’

Ali and Pete had dropped Kelly and Matt off at Matt’s house after the visit. Pete had agreed that Kelly could stay with him, as long as Matt okayed it with his parents, which he’d done while Ali and Pete were still there. As expected, they hadn’t minded at all. Ali had given Kelly twenty quid towards her food bill, and promised to call round again the next day. Then they’d left.

Matt had cooked them a pizza, and they’d shared a couple of cans of lager before curling up on the sofa in front of the TV. This must be what being married is like, Kelly thought. Sitting companionably with the curtains drawn and the heating on, while rain lashes down outside, but we’re warm and safe here in our little nest. She patted the sofa beside her. ‘Come and sit with me?’

Matt gave her a questioning look, but picked up his can and moved over. Kelly snuggled up against him. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

‘Not at all.’ He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. ‘Like old times, isn’t it?’

‘Mmm.’ She laid her head against him, enjoying the feeling of warmth and security. She turned her face upwards, to see Matt gazing down at her, a slight crease between his eyes.

‘What’s happening here, babe?’ he whispered.

In answer, she shifted position so that she could kiss him, full on the lips, long and deep, as they used to do. He responded cautiously at first, then eagerly, his hands stroking her face, her neck, running down her back and around to her breasts.

‘God, I’ve missed you,’ he said throatily, as she pulled him down on top of her, sensing his mounting excitement as she slipped a hand down the back of his jeans.

They could do it, right here, right now, she realised. They never had, before. There hadn’t been the opportunity. You could hardly go for it in a bedroom when your parents were sitting downstairs. And she’d always wanted her first time to be special, not rushed or uncomfortable, not down a side alley or on top of a pile of coats at a party. This was the perfect chance. And she did love Matt. She wanted him back. She fumbled with his jeans buttons and slipped her hand inside. He groaned.

‘Do you want to…you know?’

‘Yes. And I think you do, too.’ She giggled, giving him a squeeze which elicited another groan.

He undid her jeans, and used both hands to tug them down over her hips, while she rolled her T-shirt off over her head. There was a fleece throw folded on the back of the sofa, which he pulled down over them.

Suddenly, he stopped. ‘Um, babe, I don’t suppose you’ve got any—’

‘Shit. No. Have you?’

‘No.’

An image of Joan, swollen with Jack’s baby, flashed through Kelly’s mind. Joan had become pregnant by Jack and then lost him, and had to give her baby up for adoption. What if the same happened to Kelly? No. It wouldn’t happen. They couldn’t risk it. She pushed him away and rolled off the sofa, retrieving her jeans and T-shirt. ‘Sorry, Matt. I can’t. We shouldn’t.’

‘You’re right. Sorry. I got a bit carried away there.’ Matt stood up and re-buttoned his jeans. He ran a hand through his hair, and looked around the room, as if unsure what to do next.

‘It was my fault,’ Kelly said. ‘I started it. But then I thought of Joan, and her baby, and, well, that kind of stopped me.’

‘Just as well, I guess. You getting pregnant would be disastrous.’ He sat down again beside her and put an arm around her shoulders. ‘Another time, perhaps?’

‘Yeah.’ She smiled, and picked up the TV remote control. A sitcom was about to start. That would take their minds off what they’d been about to do.

‘What do you think happened to Joan?’ Matt asked.

Kelly shook her head. ‘I don’t know. But I have a feeling it was something terribly sad.’

Chapter Twenty

June 1944

Joan knelt on her bed, holding her curtain slightly open. An almost-full moon shone into her room, casting its silvery light across her bed. It was a beautiful, peaceful sight. She remembered the moonshine across the sea that she and Jack had gazed upon on the night they met, and again on the night they’d become engaged. It was as though the full moon was smiling on them, being there at their most significant moments, watching over them. She shook her head. No, that was too fanciful a thought. But was the moon watching now over Jack? Or, at least, was he lying somewhere in France, looking up at the moon just as she was? Thinking of her just as she was thinking of him? It was the very same moon. If they were both gazing at it at the same moment, then however far apart they were that gave them some kind of connection. That was a comforting thought. She tucked the edge of the curtain behind her bookcase, so that the moonlight shone across her bed, and lay down.

After her secret visit to the doctor that morning, she missed Jack more than ever. How different things would be if it were peacetime, if she’d been able to tell him her news today. But he was away fighting the war in France, part of the Normandy landings. And she was alone in England, with her momentous news held tightly within her belly. She placed a hand on her lower abdomen, imagining it swelling and growing, the baby wriggling and kicking. She wondered whether it would look more like her or Jack. Like Jack, she hoped. He’d be delighted with her news, she knew. It may be a bit early in their relationship—ideally they’d have married first and had a child later—but when there was a war on things didn’t always happen as they should. They’d taken a chance sleeping together, that one night in the air-raid shelter. They wouldn’t have done that if it had been peacetime. But it
had
happened, and she didn’t regret it for a moment. Not even now she’d found out she was carrying his baby.
Especially
not now. There was something of Jack, growing inside her. How could she ever regret that?

She lay back on her pillow, the moonlight streaming silkily across her bed, and settled down to sleep with a secret smile on her face.

The following day Joan was due to run the playgroup at the WVS for a few hours, from late morning till mid-afternoon. One small girl, wearing a red dress and with a matching ribbon in her hair, was being left for the first time.

‘Her name’s Olive,’ said the child’s mother. ‘I’ll only be an hour. I hope she’ll be good for you.’

‘I’m sure she will. Olive. What a pretty name!’ said Joan. ‘Come on, Olive. Sit down with me. Do you like to play with dolls? We have a lovely one here. Her name is Annabel.’ The little girl shyly put out a hand to touch the doll’s dress. Her mother smiled, and waved goodbye as Joan settled down with Olive on her lap, already happily undressing the doll.

The hours passed quickly, with up to half a dozen children being left with Joan at any time. She was lucky today—they were all easy children, happy to play with the selection of toys she’d brought out of the cupboard. Sometimes it wasn’t so easy if the children fretted for their mothers, or mistreated the toys. Mrs Atkins brought her tea and biscuits, and squash for the children. She sat beside Joan for a few moments with her own cup of tea.

‘You do so well with the little ones,’ she commented.

‘It’s an easy job,’ Joan replied, laughing. ‘All I have to do is play!’

‘Yes, but not everyone has the rapport with children that you do. You’ll make a wonderful mother, some day.’

Joan blushed. Surely Mrs Atkins couldn’t have guessed her secret?

‘Have you heard from your young man lately?’ the older woman went on.

‘Not for over a week. In his last letter he said he was being sent to France. I believe he’s been involved in the D-Day landings. So many soldiers have been sent over.’

‘Yes, and they are doing a marvellous job. We should be very proud of them. And don’t you worry about him. When he’s in the thick of it, remember that no news is good news.’ Mrs Atkins’s eyes were misty. ‘And you too, you’re doing your bit for the war effort here. These mothers rely on you, you know, to give them a bit of time to do everything else. Especially those whose menfolk are away at the front.’

‘I’m glad there is something I can do to help,’ Joan replied. ‘In some ways I’d rather be out there, fighting alongside Jack, getting shot at, and—oh!’ She broke off speaking and clutched at her forehead. She’d felt a sudden, sharp pain, through the back of her head, and between her eyes. It vanished as quickly as it had arrived, but she was left feeling decidedly queasy.

‘What is it, dear? Are you all right?’

‘Yes, um, no. Sorry, Mrs Atkins, I just feel a little peculiar…’ She got up and rushed to the cloakrooms, where she vomited into the toilet. This wasn’t morning sickness. This was something else. A terrible feeling of dread and foreboding sat at the pit of her stomach. Oh God, was she losing the baby? No, it felt worse even than that. Jack, it was Jack. Where was he? What was he doing? Something felt horribly, sickeningly wrong…

There was a tap at the door of the cubicle. It was Mrs Atkins. ‘Is everything all right, dear?’

Joan pushed open the door and went out. Mrs Atkins instantly folded her in her arms and rocked her, like a baby. ‘There, now. Shh, don’t upset yourself. Now, tell me, what can the matter be?’

Should she tell her? About the baby? About the feeling of horror that had just washed over her? No, it was all too private, and although Mrs Atkins felt more like a mother to her than her own mother, she didn’t feel she could confide any of this to her. ‘It’s nothing, Mrs Atkins. I just felt a bit dizzy for a moment. I should get back to the children.’

‘They’re perfectly all right. I’ve asked one of the other girls to keep an eye for a few minutes. Are you sure there is nothing you want to talk to me about? I do understand, you know. My Arthur went away to fight in the trenches, back in 1916. He never came back. I was pregnant when he left. My poor Johnny never knew his father. And now he’s away fighting in France as well, like your Jack. Come, sit in the kitchen with me for a moment. I’ll make us a nice cup of tea.’